THAT NIGHT EIGHT YEARS AGO
by Patcat
Summary: See title
1. Chapter 1

THAT NIGHT EIGHT YEARS AGO

THAT NIGHT EIGHT YEARS AGO

Detective Second Grade Robert Goren took a deep, long drag from his cigarette. As he dropped the butt on the ground, he reveled in the heat and acrid taste in his mouth and throat. He crushed the butt under his worn boots, grateful for the slight warmth the activity provided. He knew smoking was bad for him and that some day he'd pay for it, but he'd started in the high school after he quit the basketball team and the habit grew worse when he was in the Army and on long surveillance assignments. The cigarettes followed him to his work as a policeman.

"Damn…I thought when I got my gold shield I'd be doing a lot less of this," Detective Odafin Tutuola grumbled. He wrapped his arms around his body in an effort to keep warm. "And why am I always on the coldest corner of the city?"

Bobby smiled. "Cleary told me he was on the coldest corner of the city tonight."

Fin snorted. "Whatya doing out here anyway, Goren? You could be back in the van…"

"If it's my operation, I'm going to be outside," Bobby answered. "Besides, if I'm in the van, the Brass is right on my rear."

"Don't think they have anything to complain about with you," Fin said. "Your squad has a good record…Maybe the best of any Narcotics squad in the city…"

"Your squad's numbers aren't too shabby, Fin." Bobby looked down the street. "It's good to be working with you guys."

Fin sensed Bobby Goren wasn't comfortable with praise. His reaction didn't entirely surprise Fin. In Fin's experience, many of the best cops in the NYPD weren't comfortable with praise, while some of the worst grabbed at glory they didn't deserve at every opportunity.

"So, you think this guy will show?" Fin blew on his gloved hands.

"I don't know," Bobby admitted. "He's not the brightest dealer I've come across…Truth be told, Fin, I'm not sure I want him to show up."

"You don't feel sorry for this loser, do you?" Fin had heard the stories of Goren getting in the heads of perps and had seen several examples of it during this case.

"No…Reyes made his own bed…There's no excuse for what he's become." Bobby stared down the street. "But I understand why he became what he is."

"I gotta admit…I wonder sometimes…This whole drug business," Fin said. "If the powers that be would just legalize it…."

"We'd be out of business," Bobby said. "And we'd have a whole new set of problems. But it does seem sometimes like we're sticking our fingers into a dam that's falling apart."

"Know what you mean, man…Know what you mean." Fin shook his head. "And God knows we know what this stuff can do to people."

Bobby thought of his lost older brother. "Yea…"

"Goren…" Detective Matt Cleary's voice crackled in the earpiece in Bobby's right ear. "Linder says Reyes is headed your way…He's in his usual car…But he's got someone with him…She can't get a good look at the passenger…"

Bobby frowned as he lifted the tiny microphone to his mouth. "Reyes is supposed to be alone. What does Phillips think?"

"He doesn't think we should worry about it, of course," Cleary said.

Fin, also listening on his radio, smiled.

"Well, tell Phillips I think we should worry about it," Bobby said. "I've already let him go without a vest or a wire. I don't trust Reyes or anyone who might be with him."

Cleary chuckled. "Don't worry, Goren. I'll keep an eye on the kid."

"Phillips is in a hurry to make a name for himself," Fin said.

"He's a good cop," Bobby said. "But…This is his first time playing a role…He's just out of the Academy. Comes from a family of cops…He thinks he has a lot to prove…and that he's invincible. He's smart and he's honest, and I think he could be a great cop with some seasoning."

"You're still worried about him," Fin said.

"Yea…I want him to get that seasoning," Bobby admitted.

"You should be able to see Reyes' car," Cleary said over the wire.

Fin slumped on a step, giving a good impression of a junkie or drunk. He watched as Goren shuffled over to an alley and produced an impressive rendition of a mentally ill man. He was so good that Fin understood some of the rumors that flew around the big cop. Fin hadn't been pleased when he learned that his squad would have to join Goren's, and he was less pleased when Goren was named head of this operation over Eva Linder. But Fin, along with the rest of his squad, was impressed by Goren. The "big guy", as Linder referred to him by the second day, spread out the credit and took little, took blame and gave little of it, and worked harder than anyone. Fin liked Bobby Goren.

Bobby lifted the lid of a nearby trash can and surveyed its contents. It was the sort of thing homeless people did, and most people assumed only a crazy person would have interest in a trash can's contents. His years as a cop had lead Bobby to discover that the trash contained a great deal of information about his fellow human beings, and that they tended to ignore, or to pretend to ignore, those who rummaged through it. Both his years as a cop and as the son of a mentally ill mother taught him that people also disliked dealing with obviously disturbed people who created disturbances. When he was on surveillance, Bobby tried to disappear, but sometimes it was impossible to hide his six feet, four inches, and change body. Sometime hiding in plain sight by creating a scene was the best option.

Fortunately, at the moment there weren't many people around whose attention he didn't want. He was always uneasy when major deals were about to go down, although he'd dealt with many in his days at Narcotics. This deal wasn't as major as some, but catching Reyes and charging him would give the DA a great deal of leverage to get Reyes to turn on his distributors. Reyes faced long, hard time, not because he was a particularly vicious or hardened criminal, but because he wasn't a particularly good one. Some people, Bobby thought, became criminals because they didn't have a chance, some because they were greedy, but some, like Reyes, because they just weren't very smart. Reyes worried Bobby because not very smart people often did not very smart things. Bobby was also worried about this unknown person traveling with Reyes. He didn't think Reyes was capable of violence if the dealer was alone, but the presence of another person disrupted the equation. Bobby was also worried about Tommy Phillips. He liked the kid, thought that he was a hard worker trying to live up to the considerable reputations of his father and uncles. Bobby was at first irritated when the Brass foisted Phillips on his squad. As someone who had no family or friendly ties to the NYPD—if anything, his family's relationship with the police was a hostile one—Bobby was occasionally resentful or envious of those with such ties, especially if they used said ties for personal advancement or to hide something. But Bobby also knew how a man's family could lead to preconceptions about him, and he'd welcomed Phillips with an open if wary mind. The kid proved to be a strong addition to his team, but this was his first real work in the field. Phillips had cultivated Reyes, and sold this operation to Bobby and the squad. Phillips had also convinced Fin's squad to join Bobby's in the attempt to catch Reyes's distributors. In the process, Bobby strongly suspected that Phillips had minimized the dangers involved.

Bobby shot a glance up the street. A highly polished black muscle car gleamed in the street lights and rumbled up the road. The thought that his friend Lewis would like to take a look under its hood flickered across Bobby's mind. He saw Reyes in the driver's seat, and his brief look at the dealer's face increased his worry. After the car passed him, he whispered into his mike. "Everybody…Be sharp…Reyes looks nervous…"

The car stopped at the corner. Phillips emerged from the building nearest the car. Reyes slipped from the driver's side. His passenger, a large black man dressed in a leather jacket, expensive sneakers, and black jeans, stepped from the passenger side.

"Bad news," Fin's voice crackled in Bobby's ear. "That's Louis Dewey…Nasty, big time dealer…I thought he was away upstate…"

Bobby felt for his gun. Anyone who could scare Fin was someone he didn't want anyone to deal with, let alone give to a relatively inexperienced officer. "All right," he said into the mike. "Let's get ready to shut this down and get Phillips out of there…"

Linder made a quick protest, but Cleary agreed with Bobby. "I got a better view," Cleary said. "The big guy isn't happy about something…Reyes is jumpy…and Phillip's confused…He's doing a good job of hiding it, but the kid's confused."

Bobby caught Fin's eye. On opposite sides of the street, they shuffled towards the corner. A shout behind them caused both Fin and Bobby to look over their shoulders. About a half dozen kids, two of them wearing leather letter jackets, were walking down the street.

"We got civilians," Bobby said calmly and softly into his mike. His voice didn't betray his pounding heart. "Let's try to shut this down."

Bobby continued to move toward the corner. He again caught Fin's eyes, and jerked his head in the kids' direction. Fin responded with a quick nod and turned to move towards the kids. Bobby was now close enough to make out Phillips and Reyes' faces. Dewey wore a cap pulled down low to obscure his face. Reyes was agitated. Phillips was talking, talking too much and too quickly. In the distance Bobby saw Linder appear on the street far beyond the three men and heard her soft "Damn" over the wire. Dewey waved a hand in disgust, and Reyes pulled a handgun from his coat. He jammed the gun against Phillips' chest and shoved the young cop against the closest building.

"I'll waste him for you, Dew!" Reyes yelled.

Bobby heard, saw, felt everything. He tasted the fear in the air. Although they were behind him, he sensed the terror of the kids as Fin tried to get them to a safe place.

"Ok," Bobby thought. "Civilians first, cops second, me last."

He took a deep breath and lumbered towards the three men, singing a faintly remembered song from when he was a kid.

"Kookabura sits on the old gum tree. Merry, merry king of the bush is he…"

Dewey, Reyes, and Phillips all turned towards Bobby. Phillips' eyes widened, but he quickly covered his shock. Reyes stared at Bobby and pulled the gun away from Phillips.

"What the…" Dewey muttered.

"Wow!" Bobby cried. "Cool piece!"

Reyes' eyes swung wildly from Phillips to Bobby. The gun wavered in his trembling hand.

"Get rid of the mental," Dewey said.

"Back off!" Reyes shouted and swung the gun to point at Bobby.

"All right," Bobby thought. "Now if Phillips will just not try to play the hero."

As if he heard and decided to ignore Bobby's thoughts, Phillips inched toward Reyes. Dewey's hand jerked to his coat, and the young cop froze. Before Reyes could point the gun back at Phillips, Bobby stepped forward and seized the gun barrel. The three other men gasped. Behind him, Bobby heard one of the kids scream.

"Hey!" Bobby said. "It's real! Wow…Are you good with it? Do you practice? They won't let me have guns. If I had one, I tell you…The rats and pigeons…I'd wipe 'em out…You know a pigeon is just a rat with feathers? I guess that makes a rat a pigeon with fur…"

Dewey and Reyes stared at Bobby. Phillips seemed to struggle with several thoughts. Only Bobby seemed calm and cool. He still held the gun's barrel, which brushed against his coat.

"Reyes," Dewey said coolly. "Too many people around…Let's walk away…Get out of here…"

"Let it go," Bobby thought. "Reyes…Phillips…Don't do anything stupid…"

Phillips seemed determined to do everything Bobby didn't want him to do. "We had a deal," the young cop said.

Bobby released his hold on the gun and turned so that he blocked Phillips from the two dealers. "You got a deal going down?" He winked at the younger man and hoped Phillips got the message.

"No," Dewey said coldly. "There's no deal. Let's get out of here…"

Bobby glanced at Phillips, hoping that Reyes and Dewey wouldn't notice.

"This wasn't my fault," Reyes cried.

"Right," Dewey said dismissively. "It's not your fault…"

"I'm sorry," Phillips said. "I don't know what's going on, but I'm sorry." His voice carried just enough hurt and apology to placate Dewey.

Reyes was another case. "He knows too much." The dealer waved the gun. "He knows you and me…I'll waste him for you…And this guy…" He shoved the gun against Bobby's side.

Bobby was terribly aware of everything around him—Phillips' fear, Reyes' desperation, the kids' terror, and Dewey's disgust. He knew the other cops weren't in any position to help to help him or Phillips. He knew that several cars now moved on the street, and could hear another group of kids—probably coming from the same party as the first—had just turned the corner. Bobby took a deep breath.

"Reyes," he said softly and slowly turned.

Phillips stiffened, and Reyes stared at Bobby. The wavering gun was less than an inch away from Bobby's stomach.

"It's over, Reyes," Bobby said. "Things are out of your control."

Reyes, trying to reconcile the calm man in front of him with the lunatic of a few moments before, continued to stare at Bobby.

"Dewey isn't impressed with you," Bobby continued. He might have been in the squad room quietly explaining a point to his captain. "He's upset that you've placed him in this position. Dewey's just gotten out…Getting caught in this could send him right back…The fact he's carrying isn't going to help him."

Dewey, who'd edged away from Reyes, stopped and eyed Bobby. "Cop," he said. "You're a cop." Fear crept into his eyes. "Damn it, Rey…Can't you do anything right?"

Reyes stared wildly around him. Phillips started to move forward, but Bobby stopped him by raising a hand.

"Reyes," Bobby said. "It's not working. You're not impressing Dewey…Your plan has fallen apart…You couldn't know…That all these things would happen …The kids…That someone would betray you…But you can still save this…Save yourself…Put the gun down…"

"No…No…" Reyes muttered. "I've got too many strikes against me…I'll do hard time."

"Maybe," Bobby conceded. "But the DA has some leeway…And…" He looked at Dewey. "In some places…Dewey has friends…Friends who could make it easy or hard for you…"

"This…my big break," Reyes said.

"Ok," Bobby thought. "Everyone stay cool. I'm reaching him…Give me time…He'll put it down…No one will get hurt…"

"Reyes," Bobby said. "It's not just you…Look around…There's a lot of innocent people…I know your sheet…You don't have a violent history…That gun…It's a semi-automatic. You start shooting, you might not stop, and a lot of people could get hurt. And they might be people you didn't want to hurt."

"You…him…" Reyes jerked the gun towards Phillips. "I won't miss you…"

"You start shooting," Bobby said. "And the other cops start shooting too…You won't leave here without getting hurt…Probably killed…And if Dewey gets hurt…or worse…his friends and associates will look for your family and your friends."

The gun was still close to Bobby, but Reyes was increasingly confused.

"Too many wild cards," Bobby thought. "Phillips…Dewey…the kids…anyone coming down the streets or out of the buildings…Please…please…Reyes…Put it down…Put it down…"

The gun pointed down.

"Fool," Dewey hissed. "Stupid fool…To think…"

Reyes' eyes widened, and Bobby knew he had to move. He seized the gun before Reyes could raise it again. For less than a second, nothing moved, there was no sound, the world stopped. Then, the sharp, brutal, horrible crack of a gunshot filled the air.

END CHAPTER ONE


	2. Chapter 2

CHAPTER TWO

In less time than it takes a heart to beat, Reyes dropped the gun, Dewey spun to run, and Phillips and Bobby stared at each other. In less time than it takes a heart to beat twice, Phillips had his gun out and pointed at Reyes, Fin had the terrified kids on the ground or in doorways, and other detectives and cops were swarming over the street. Bobby stared at his right hand, which throbbed from the force and heat of Reyes's gun. In less time than it takes a heart to beat three times, Reyes and Dewey were on the ground and pleading with the cops.

"Good," Bobby thought as he resumed breathing. "No one hurt…"

Pain—bright, red, hot pain—flared in his left leg as the adrenaline rush through his body eased. His left leg collapsed, and Bobby crumpled to the concrete.

"Officer down!" Phillips screamed. "Officer down!" The young cop jammed his gun against Reyes' head. "You…"

"Phillips," Bobby said calmly but through clenched teeth. "Secure the prisoner…Make sure the civilians are safe…Call for an ambulance…Do your job…"

Phillips didn't move.

"Tommy," Bobby said softly. "C'mon…I'm going to need some help, man…"

Phillips shook. "You're not worth it," he hissed at Reyes. "But he is…" His head jerked towards Bobby. Phillips pulled out his cuffs and snapped them on Reyes.

Bobby let out a ragged breath and looked around him. Eva Linder moved quickly towards him. Matt Cleary and several other cops had Dewey well in hand. Fin was getting the kids out of the area.

"Ok," Bobby thought. "Ok…" He stared down at his left leg. His pants were already soaked in blood. Seeing the bright, scarlet liquid triggered something in his brain, and the pain hit with greater force, sending hard, stabbing, throbs through his body with every heartbeat. Bobby felt dizzy and sick, and struggled not to slump down on the cold sidewalk.

"Hang on, Big Guy," Eva Linder said as she knelt beside him. "Ambulance is on its way." She pulled her scarf from around her neck and started to wrap it around Bobby's leg. "Looks like the bullet went through."

Bobby grunted in pain. "Every…everything ok?" In spite of the cold, he began to sweat.

"Yea," Linder said as she tied off the scarf. "I don't know if that was the bravest or stupidest thing I've ever seen."

"You…you're going to ruin that scarf," Bobby said.

The distant wail of sirens broke through the night.

"You can buy me another one," Linder answered. "But no cheap knockoffs."

"You got it." Bobby tried to smile and moved his body. The resulting pain forced him to the ground, with Linder's hand beneath his head keeping it from banging into the concrete.

"Hang on, Kid," Bobby heard Matt Cleary's voice coming down a long tunnel. In spite of his pain, Bobby smiled. Cleary was barely five years older than him, but insisted on calling him "Kid" when he offered him advice or worried about him. Cleary was a good man and a good cop and one of the reasons why Bobby stayed with the NYPD when it frustrated him. "The ambulance is here," Cleary said. "I'm riding with you…"

EMTs surrounded Bobby. "Who…who's in charge?" he gasped.

Cleary's face loomed over the shoulder of one of the EMTs. "Linder's got it. Phillips is ok. The civilians are ok. The perps are under control. Dewey was carrying a big, nasty piece. Reyes is singing like an opera star. We got a noisy little fish and a nice big fish tonight, Kid."

"And it won't mean a thing," Bobby thought bitterly. "Another Dewey'll be out…"

"Hang on, Kid," Cleary said. "You did good. This coulda been a disaster."

Bobby thought of Phillips and the photo of the beautiful young woman he showed around the station house; he thought of the pictures of the children that lined Cleary's desk; he thought of Linder's quiet, gentle husband who'd asked Bobby to watch out for his wife. "A disaster," Bobby thought. "And what would it have done to so many…"

He was losing his sense of time and space. His leg hurt, with every heartbeat sending a sharp pulse through it, but his loss of perception scared him more than the pain. The EMT taking his blood pressure sensed his growing anxiety.

"Take it easy, officer," the young man said. "We're going to take good care of you."

"What…what's happening…I…I'm…" Bobby had been hurt before in his work, but he couldn't remember feeling this weak and lost.

"You're in shock," the EMT explained calmly. "The cold's a factor…and you seem to be pretty worn out. Just take it easy."

"Hang in there, Kid." Matt Cleary's voice again came down that long tunnel. Everything seemed to be coming down that tunnel, including the sirens of the ambulance and cop cars, and the noises of the hospital emergency room. Bobby had spent more time than he wanted to think about in emergency rooms, and even as a patient he realized that the one he was wheeled into was in a state of heightened alert. As the doctors and nurses descended on him, Bobby caught snatches of words.

"No arterial bleeding…Need X-rays…Get that IV started…Single gunshot…They say he saved other cops…kids…Is he the one with the stomach wound? No…the other one…Watch his blood pressure…Easy, Detective…"

"Other one?" Bobby thought. "But…everyone…Is there another cop?"

"Detective Goren." A doctor's face blurred in and out of Bobby's vision. "You're doing fine…We've got some painkillers started and some blood…It looks like the bullet might have caught your kneecap…We're taking you to surgery…We want to make sure things are ok…"

Matt Cleary appeared. "Don't worry, Kid. Everything's good. I'll be waiting for you when you get out."

Bobby was exhausted and felt the painkillers going to work. As he was wheeled out into the corridor, a blue wave surged towards him. "They can't be here for me," Bobby thought. As shadows closed in around him, Bobby saw a small, pale, young blonde woman push through the blue flock with remarkable strength. Their eyes met for the briefest of moments, and Bobby saw terrible disappointment in hers. One of the cops—apparently a member of the Brass if all the shiny bits on his uniform told the story—took the woman's arm and led her away.

"It's not him, Alex," Bobby heard the cop say just before the shadows filled his mind. "It's not him."

END CHAPTER TWO


	3. Chapter 3

CHAPTER THREE

He wanted to wake up. It seemed that someone was saying his name and urging him to wake up, and he wanted to do that. He blinked and saw a nurse hovering over him.

"Good to see you awake, Mr. Goren," she said cheerfully.

Bobby blinked again, and wondered how it was possible to feel as though he'd been asleep for days and completely exhausted. He realized he was terribly thirsty and that a dull, distant pain in his left leg was becoming stronger and closer. He tried to speak, but only produced a croak.

"Here," the nurse said and held a cup of water to him.

He sipped the water slowly and gratefully. His body seemed to belong to someone else.

"Is…Is everyone on my team ok? Was anyone else hurt?" It was very hard to concentrate.

"Yes," the nurse said quietly. "Some of them have been here to see you. They couldn't stay long. Your Captain is waiting to see you."

"I screwed up," Bobby thought.

"Could…could I see him now?" he asked.

"Are you sure?" The nurse didn't like the sudden darkness in his eyes.

"Yes…Please…" The pain in his leg was growing.

"All right," the nurse said, although her tone clearly indicated that she didn't think it was all right. "But only for a few minutes…Then I'll be back to check on you…And let us know if you're in pain. We can take care of that. There's no need for you to act brave and tough." She adjusted his IV and the monitors. "Don't you want to know how you are?"

"Uh…yea…"

The nurse smiled at him. "The bullet nicked your kneecap, but didn't do too much damage. It managed to get a couple of veins, and you lost some blood. But you should be back catching bad guys very soon. But the leg will probably give you some trouble in the future, especially if you abuse it or it gets very cold. I'll get your Captain, but behave yourself."

"If they let me catch bad guys again," Bobby thought. He turned his head to look out the window, which offered a lovely view of the air conditioning units. "I need to call Carmel Ridge…Let them know…See if I can talk to Mom and explain things…She probably won't listen…Just tell me that Frank wouldn't let something like this happen to him."

"Goren…How are you?"

Bobby turned to face his Captain. "I…I'm ok, Sir. A little foggy. Is everyone ok?"

The Captain sat heavily in the chair closest to the bed. He was exhausted and drawn. "Yes…Thank God…And thanks to you…You saved that mess, Detective…Just about everything that could go wrong did…" He saw the stricken look on Bobby's face. "None of it was your fault…All of your crew…Everyone there…The civilians…They all agree that you saved a lot of lives…Tommy Phillips is certain that you saved his. And he's convinced his father and uncles of that."

The idea that he wasn't in trouble began to sink into Bobby's brain. "Phillips…He's a good cop…He kept his cool…He picked up on what I was doing…"

"Yea…" The Captain shook his head. "Goren…You pull some of the stupidest…and bravest…stuff I've ever seen. I'm putting this one in the bravest category. I'm putting you in for a medal…The medal…With Tommy Phillips and his uncle and dad in your corner, you got a good chance of getting it."

Bobby blinked in surprise. "I…I was just doing my job."

"You're always just doing your job." The Captain smiled. "And doing it very well. The only thing I regret is that every division in the Department will be courting you. You can have your pick of assignments. I know you're having some doubts about working Narcotics."

Bobby nervously plucked at his covers. "I…I hope it's not that obvious. I…I owe you a lot, Captain. For supporting me…Letting me do my job…It's just…It's frustrating…Like trying to hold back a flood."

"You make me look very good, Detective," the Captain said. "I owe you. The truth is I'm getting a promotion, and your record has a lot to do with it."

The pain in his leg steadily increased, and Bobby felt very tired. "The next captain…might not be so…flexible."

"If you want to go, Goren…wherever…I'll give you the highest recommendation that I can…But if you'd like a suggestion…I think you'd be great in Major Case."

"Major Case?" Bobby asked. "But…I'm not that good with the politics…"

"You're better than you think," the Captain said. "Don't dismiss the idea. There is more pressure, but the cases are tough and challenging and different. I know Jimmy Deakins, the captain, and recommended he take a look at you. He's a good man and a good cop. He's good at the politics, but he takes care of his people. You'll get to use that brain of yours. And spend less time on the streets."

Bobby considered the Captain's words. "Thank you, Sir…I appreciate it…More than I can say…" He felt very tired.

"You don't have to make up your mind right away. But I wanted to let you know your options." The Captain stood. "I'll get out of here before the nurses throw me out, but I'll be back. You get some rest."

"Captain…One thing…When they brought me in…Was it last night…There were all these cops…And some of the things I heard…Was there another cop hurt last night?"

The Captain sighed. "Should've known, Goren…Even with a bullet in your leg, you're still one of the sharpest detectives around. Another deal went bad last night…Very bad…"

Bobby shivered. "A cop got killed…"

"Yea…Joe Dutton…I didn't know him…It wasn't a Narcotics operation…But I've heard very good things about him, even before…" The Captain shrugged. "You know how cops killed in the line of duty are always great cops and people…Dutton apparently really was…Came from a family of cops…Married to a cop…"

Bobby remembered the small young blonde woman in the hospital corridor. "I'd like to make the funeral…If I can…"

"I'll check with your doctors and do what I can," the Captain promised. "I've got to go. Take care of yourself, Goren. Get some rest. You did a great job."

As his Captain left, the image of that woman haunted Bobby. "Why," he thought. "Why him and not me? He seemed to have so much, and I…Why am I alive and not him?"

END CHAPTER THREE


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

Bobby Goren moved carefully out of the back of the patrol car and tried to ignore the pain and weakness in his body.

"Take it easy, kid," Matt Cleary said. "You know what the doctors said. You're still weak…And your leg is held together with stitches and a lot of hope."

"I know," Bobby said, trying not to clench his teeth against the pain. A small part of him started to agree with the doctors that he might have left the hospital too early. "I'm sorry, Cleary. I really appreciate you helping me get here…"

Cleary unfolded a wheelchair, which Bobby eyed with suspicion. "Not a problem, kid," the old cop said. "You know you don't have to do this."

"Yea…Yea I do," Bobby replied. He shifted into the wheelchair. "How do I look?"

Cleary closely examined the younger detective. "Well, for a guy who shouldn't have left the hospital, you don't look too bad."

Bobby winced.

"You clean up fine," Cleary added quickly. "You look good in the uniform…But I wonder if anyone will recognize you or me. We've been undercover so much." He handed Bobby his cap.

"Thanks…thanks for talking me into the chair," Bobby said. He tentatively moved his injured leg and tried not to show how much pain it gave him. He tried to wheel the chair, but could only manage a few inches.

Cleary moved to the back of the chair. "Let me push you. Enjoy this life of luxury while you can." He pushed the chair towards one of the church's side entrances. Around a corner, Bobby saw that a blue sea had already formed outside the building.

"You're…you're not going to put me up near the front?" Bobby asked apprehensively.

"No…Linder scoped out the church and found the best entrance for us to get the chair in," Cleary said.

"But…but won't that put me near the front? I…I don't want any attention…"

"Don't worry, kid," Cleary said. He smiled sadly. Goren hated to draw any kind of attention to himself, even good or sympathetic attention. "We'll be in a corner." Cleary maneuvered the chair at the end of a pew and took a seat next to Bobby.

The church began to fill, and Bobby and Cleary saw their Captain, looking uncomfortable in his dress blues, amidst a flock of other Captains and Lieutenants.

"Cleary," Bobby whispered. "I think I should tell you…I'm probably leaving Narcotics…I want to give you some warning…"

Cleary nodded. "Good. You should be going after real criminals. Not to say the drug dealers are bad enough, but you deserve better than freezing out on the streets." The older cop looked around the church. "Truth is…This…and what happened to you…I don't want Agnes and the kids to have to come to one of these for me."

"You…You aren't leaving the Department?" Bobby asked. He watched as harried men and women in black suits placed several large bouquets on the altar. Images of his father's funeral flitted through his mind. It had been a much smaller affair in scope and attendance.

"Not the Department," Cleary said softly. "I'm moving to Fraud. Not so exciting, but better hours. No more cold corners. And I owe you, kid. The squad's done so well under you that everyone got their choice of assignments. Linder's getting a promotion. Fin's still trying to decide. Phillips finally gets his shot at homicide. I get to see my family on a regular basis." Cleary smiled. "So, where you going?"

"The Captain thinks I should go to Major Case," Bobby said. His thoughts moved back to his last few days as an altar boy, when the Masses he served were frequently disrupted by his mother ranting and raving about saints and demons. He was never a saint, and frequently one of the demons.

"That would be a great place for you," Cleary said. He saw Bobby disappearing inside his head, and the older cop wanted to keep him from going into what seemed a dark place. "Real challenges…"

"Yea," Bobby murmured. "But…I'd have to work with a partner…I haven't had much luck with that…Politics…I got lucky with this squad…The Captain…"

"Hang in there, kid," Cleary said. "You're good at the job. Maybe the best detective I've ever seen…Certainly the smartest…"

Bobby, embarrassed, stared at the stone floor. The appearance of other members of the squads rescued him. Tommy Phillips was particularly well turned out, with his uniform pressed and his shoes shined to a blinding reflection. Fin wore his dress uniform, but his ponytail and demeanor didn't match his dress blues. Linder looked like both the good cop and mother she was. Even in their corner, Bobby saw the eyes of many cops on him, with some turning to whisper to each other. Several cops entered the pews reserved for the family and friends of the dead man. The Brass and politicians arrived and vied for spots near the front and on the aisles. Shame stabbed Bobby as he realized he was grateful that this cop's death had taken attention away from his case and from him.

The shrill drone of bagpipes sliced through the quiet. "Great." Linder whispered. "It's the whole Irish Catholic thing."

"Not the right bagpipes," Bobby said very softly. "Irish pipes are actually pretty quiet."

Cleary smiled sadly. "Yea, but it's the tradition. I'm Irish Catholic and I can't stand those things."

Bobby desperately wished he could stand and fidget. The wheelchair confined him, and his leg throbbed mercilessly. "I will not leave," he thought. "I will not faint…I will not make a scene…This is for the dead…"

The funeral moved in its awful parade. The Brass and politicians finally settled on their seats. The pipers led the coffin, draped in the NYPD flag and supported on the shoulders of six red-eyed officers, up the main aisle of the church. The family followed the coffin. A slightly beyond middle-aged woman Bobby guessed to be the dead man's mother wept and wailed, but Bobby found the young widow's quiet grief far more disturbing. He recognized her as the woman who'd stared at him in disappointment at the hospital. She, like many of the family members, wore a police dress uniform. She was pale, almost white, and her eyes circled with black rings. She walked at the side of an older man whose features suggested hers, and Bobby guessed that the man might be her father. She appeared to be supporting the older man far more than he supported her. As she started to move into the front pew, she stopped to look at the coffin, and for one moment Bobby wished he could change places with the man in the coffin. Through the Mass, Bobby's gaze returned again and again to the young widow. He noticed that the nearly hysterical older woman occasionally looked at the younger in astonishment.

"She…Others…May think she doesn't feel anything," Bobby thought. "But she's feeling…She's feeling a lot…It's as if she's both shocked and expected this…She's strong…really strong…There's more strength in that little body…"

She was motionless throughout most of the service, but her hands occasionally dropped in front of her body or into her lap. "Oh, God," Bobby thought. "She may be pregnant…Poor kid…" He blinked. "That's the last thing she'd want…Pity…I bet she'd hate it…"

There were readings, shakily given by a red-eyed cop and a tearful woman. "A time to live and a time to die…" ("Whenever that time to die is," Bobby thought. "It shouldn't be when you have a wife and maybe a child on the way.") St. Paul on love—"Love is patient; love is kind…" ("Strange," Bobby thought. "That a man so concerned about sins of the flesh should know so much about love.") The gospel offered the familiar lines of the Beatitudes—"Blessed are the peacemakers…" ("I wonder," Bobby thought. "If it makes sense to extol the virtues of peacemaking for the funeral of a man who died violently...") There were eulogies from the dead man's brother, from his Captain, from his partner, all praising him as a cop, a friend, a son, a husband. As Bobby watched the widow, he thought that stabbing her might have given her less pain.

And, suddenly, all the words were spoken, all the prayers raised, all the hymns sung. The six officers with the black bands on their badges and spotless white gloves on their hands slowly lifted the coffin to their shoulders and began the slow march out of the church. As she moved from the pew to follow the coffin, the widow's composure broke for the first time and her shoulders hitched. Bobby and the hundreds of others in the church fought against great lumps in their throats, but she recovered and calmly walked on.

"You ok, Bobby?" Eva Linder asked gently.

Bobby looked around him and saw that all of the men near him were fighting against tears with varying degrees of failure. Only Linder seemed to be in control of her emotions, and Bobby wondered how much it cost female cops to be tougher than their male counterparts.

"My…my leg…" Bobby said, willing to admit the physical but not the emotional pain.

Matt Cleary wiped his eyes. "C'mon, kid…Let's get you out of here…"

They left the church in silence. Cleary carefully maneuvered Bobby to their car. With a great deal of effort, Bobby slipped into the back seat. Cleary placed the wheelchair in the trunk and slipped behind the steering wheel. He studied Bobby in the rearview mirror.

"I…I don't think I can hold it together for the cemetery, kid," Cleary said deliberately.

Bobby stared at the line of cars behind the hearse. Beyond them, lined at attention along the street, was a wave of blue. He knew the older cop was giving him an out. "I…I don't think…I could make it either," he said.

"We'll have to wait for the procession," Cleary said.

Bobby nodded. The hearse moved forward with agonizing slowness, followed by the black Lincoln carrying the family. One of its back windows was down, and Bobby saw the young widow leaning her head out and breathing deeply. For the briefest of moments their eyes met, and Bobby again wondered why the man she loved was dead and he was alive.

END CHAPTER FOUR


	5. Chapter 5

I've given Bobby a Medal of Honor, which is not Canon to the show. I also don't know if his actions merited such an award.

Chapter Five

Several months passed before Bobby moved to Major Case. His physical recovery took several weeks. When he returned to Narcotics, he assisted with the cleanup of several cases, but his Captain, who also waited for his new assignment, kept him off the streets.

"It's not that I don't trust you," the Captain told him. "I do…But I want you to get to Major Case in one piece."

"You're sure the move is really going to happen?" Bobby asked.

"It will," the Captain responded. "You know how long it takes the wheels to move in the department. Congratulations, Detective First Grade."

Bobby looked at the Captain in amazement. "First Grade? I got a promotion?"

"And the Medal of Honor…And don't tell me you don't deserve it," the Captain said. "I'm proud of you…First man I've commanded who's got one…"

Bobby suffered through the awarding of the medal, hating himself for his gratitude that Officer Dutton's death on the same night muted the ceremony. The department's wheels finally moved nearly a year after that terrible night. The same day that Bobby's Captain in Narcotics was named an Assistant Chief, Tommy Phillips got his gold shield and a prime spot in Homicide, Matt Cleary moved to Fraud, Eva Linder became a Lieutenant, and Bobby sat in the office of the Major Case Squad's Captain, James Deakins. Deakins welcomed him to Major Case and congratulated him on his promotion and award. Bobby sensed a wariness on Deakins' part, but the Captain also appeared to be willing to reserve judgment on his new detective. He showed Bobby to a small, unstable desk behind a column but in clear view of the Captain and handed the younger man a booklet and several forms. Bobby said nothing about the desk's condition and location and settled into studying the booklet and filling out the forms. He'd worked in worse places under worse conditions, and Deakins appeared pleased with his reaction.

Bobby spent his first days in Major Case learning and observing. The Squad moved with efficiency and energy, but there was clearly much more political pressure than Bobby had seen in other divisions of the NYPD. It was clear Major Case held a lot of very ambitious and very smart detectives. Many dressed liked Wall Street types, and the world was very different from the often chaotic one of Narcotics. "I'm going to have to upgrade my wardrobe," Bobby thought, and he smiled wanly at the idea that the cost of new clothes would easily wipe out the raise he received with his promotion.

He studied the other Major Case members with interest, wondering which might be a candidate as his partner. At the end of his third day with the squad, Deakins emerged from his office.

"Detective Goren," he said. "There's someone I'd like you to meet."

Bobby quietly followed the captain. He soothed his tie and the front of his suit. "This is it," he thought. "Time to meet the partner…I want this to work…" For all of his skills as a detective and his leadership abilities, Bobby had little luck with partners. His mind moved too quickly and he followed it too impulsively for most cops. His failed partnerships were one of the reasons for his reputation as eccentric as best and a whack job at worst. "I'll try," Bobby thought. "I'll really try with this partner…I just hope he's willing to try…" He stopped just inside Deakins' office. There, standing confidently in front of the captain's desk and regarding him with a critical but not unfriendly eye, was the young widow.

"Detective Alex Eames," Deakins said. "Detective Robert Goren…"

"Please," Bobby thought as he shook her strong hand. "Don't let her recognize me…"

She was small, her head barely reaching the middle of his chest. She wore a neat, conservative dark blue suit with a white shirt with blue stripes. Her medium length blonde hair framed an intelligent with eyes that were a mix of grey, brown, and green. "She's tough," Bobby thought. "And pretty…"

"Please," he said softly. "Call me Bobby."

She looked at him carefully. "Bobby, uh? Big guy for such a kid's name."

Bobby smiled. "You've caught one of my tricks."

"You have a lot of those?" she smiled back.

Bobby liked Alex Eames, liked her a lot, and quickly came to admire her skills as a detective. But in spite of his affection and admiration for his new partner, their first weeks together weren't easy. When her damned letter requesting a transfer emerged years later, Bobby wasn't completely surprised. They managed to get through those first days—largely, Bobby readily admitted, because of Alex—and the partnership and friendship became the best things in Bobby's life.

He was aware of her scrutiny. During their first full day together, Alex commented, "I think I've seen you around…"

Bobby waved a large paw. "Probably some function or other…"

There were other times when he dodged the bullet of her recognizing him. When Alex was on her pregnancy leave, and Bobby and Bishop caught the case of the murdered undercover officers, Bobby, Bishop, Carver and Deakins attended the funeral of one of the cops. Deakins was clearly pleased with the quick resolution of the case, and Bishop clearly proud of her work, but Bobby felt only a terrible weight as they entered the church. Alex, looking remarkably good in her improvised maternity dress uniform, waited for them inside.

"You look good," she told Bobby. "I don't think I've ever seen you in your dress blues."

"Yes, you have," Bobby thought. "Please don't remember it."

She said nothing, but throughout the service Bobby caught her looking at him as if she struggled to remember something.

He had another close call at the funeral of her dead husband's ex-partner. As he drove back to Major Case after the funeral, Bobby felt Alex's close study of him.

"You ok?" he asked gently.

"I…I was just thinking," Alex said. "Joe…Joe always used any excuse to wear his dress blues…But you…"

"I…I'm a detective…We don't wear the blues unless…" He swallowed. "Accept for things like this."

"Yea," Alex said. "I think the last time I wore my dress uniform was at that funeral when I was pregnant."

When they reached One Police Plaza, Bobby moved stiffly out of the SVU.

"Your leg bothering you?" Alex asked sympathetically.

"A little," Bobby admitted. "Been sitting too long."

"It's a little cold…It always seems to bother you when it's cold."

"Yea…" Bobby pulled his tie from his collar as they walked to the elevator.

"You've never told me how you got hurt," Alex said. She pointed at the green ribbon on Bobby's shield. "Did it have anything to do with that?"

As he had every time Alex had asked about his Medal of Honor, Bobby disappeared behind his emotional brick walls. "It…It did…But I…I really don't want to talk about it….Please, Alex…"

"Ok," Alex said, touched by his use of her first name. "But you know…real heroes usually don't want to talk about what they did."

"I…I wasn't a hero," Bobby mumbled. "Nothing like it." He stared at the elevator lights.

"Well, if you don't want to share the details of your heroics," Alex said.

He was too relieved to notice the disappointment in her eyes.

Alex avoided the subject of Bobby's Medal until Captain Ross brought it up soon after Bobby returned from suspension.

"I'm doing some paperwork on his reinstatement," Ross said. "And I just wondered how he got his Medal of Honor."

Alex watched Bobby wrestle with the copier. Ross followed her gaze.

"How a guy that bright can have so much trouble with machines," the Captain said.

"Bobby says he has bad karma with machines. Even though he doesn't believe in karma."

Alex smiled. "I don't know anything about the medal, Sir. He's never worn anything beyond the ribbon on his dress uniform, and that only because he has to. I've asked him about it a couple of times…but he just says he didn't deserve it and he doesn't want to talk about it. I've thought about looking it up…"

"Well, it might help his cause if he occasionally took advantage of it," Ross said.

"I wonder why I don't remember him getting it," Alex said. "I mean, even if it happened his first day on the job, I've been NYPD longer than him. I should remember it."

"He must have received it some time when I was out of the loop. I was on a foreign task force about eight years ago," Ross said. "Maybe then…Just let him know he's not in trouble and I need him to fill out some forms."

"Eight years ago," Alex thought as Ross walked away. "I was preoccupied then…"

It was a quiet afternoon, and Alex took advantage of it to search for eight year old newspaper stories on Officer Robert Goren. She discovered—as she'd expected and prepared herself—many stories on Joe's death. In spit of her resolve, the stories—many of them she now knew to be based on lies—shook her, but she finally found the reports she looked for. There were small stories in the TIMES and the DAILY NEWS, but the POST, with its usual lack of subtlety, carried headlines screaming about a night of tragedy for the NYPD. There, almost lost in the story about Joe's murder, were a few lines describing Detective Robert Goren's efforts in saving civilians and cops when a narcotics deal went bad. There were painfully few details or follow-up stories, but Alex learned that Detective Goren was badly injured but expected to fully recover, and that his superiors were considering rewarding him for his actions. All of these reports took second place to the reports on Joe. Aside from one or two reprints of Bobby's academy graduation photo, there were very few pictures of him. As Alex shifted through the stories, her heart stopped when she saw one photo. "Hero Cop Attends Fellow Officer's Funeral," the caption read, and it showed a very pale Bobby leaning heavily against a church pew.

"Eames? Are you ok?" Bobby's concerned voice broke in on her shock. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

The memories of that awful night flooded Alex. Her stomach lurched, and she stumbled from her chair and reeled to the women's bathroom. She managed to reach a stall before her stomach rebelled violently. Shaking, she knelt in front of the toilet.

"Oh, God," she thought. "The hospital…They took Bobby to the same hospital…and that was him…The cop I saw first…the one I hated because he was going to live and they told me Joe was very bad…Even then I knew he wouldn't make it…" A wave of nausea swept over her, and she leaned over the toilet. When she finished emptying what little remained in her stomach, Alex leaned back against the stall. "Oh, Bobby…All this time…No wonder you didn't want to tell me…How dare you not tell me! Joe…Joe…Bobby…Bobby…" Tears filled her eyes, rage and grief filled her, and Alex sobbed.

Lost in one of the department's more complicated forms, Bobby didn't register Alex's departure until she was nearly in the bathroom. "What happened?" he thought, and felt most of the eyes of Major Case on him. "They probably think I caused it," he thought. "Hell…Maybe I did…Or maybe this is some girl thing…" He returned to his efforts to solve the form's puzzles, but grew increasingly worried as minutes passed and Alex didn't return. "Maybe she's really sick," he thought, and nearly became ill himself. He stood and tried to make himself invisible—never an easy task—and glanced at her computer screen. He stopped as if he'd hit a brick wall. He felt dizzy and sick, and his leg throbbed with remembered pain. He leaned on Alex's desk and tried to calm the rushing blood in his head. He looked up and saw Alex run from the bathroom to the elevators. He started after her, but his reluctance to run in the squad room kept him from catching her before she got in a car. All of the cars were headed down, and Bobby spun to the stairs. He descended the eleven flights as fast as he could, and by the seventh floor, his leg hurt badly. He reached the lobby and caught his breath as he scanned the floor for Alex.

"Outside," he thought. "She must be…"

He found her sitting on a bench near the edge of the OPP plaza. They both knew the place. It was where they went when the crime scene photos became too much, or they were too steamed at Ross or each other, or it was a beautiful day and they felt like a few minutes of playing hooky. Trying not to limp, Bobby walked to her.

"You found me…Good job, Detective." Alex was pale, and her eyes rimmed in red.

She'd been crying, and he was the reason. He ran a hand through his hair.

"You look like you ran down the stairs," she said. "That can't be good for you leg. Does it hurt?"

"It…it's ok." He stood in front of her like a condemned man waiting for his punishment. "I…I'm sorry, Eames…"

"For God's sake, Bobby…What are you sorry about? For doing your job? For getting shot? That's not your fault."

"It's…I…I didn't tell you…Because…I didn't want you…to have to relive that night…It's not because I don't trust you…Please believe that…"

She saw that his leg shook as much as his voice. "Here…Sit down and rest your leg."

He sat as far away from as he could.

"Tell me what happened that night…all of it," she commanded.

He took a deep breath and told her. She stopped him only once.

"You grabbed Reyes' gun?" she asked.

"It…it was the only way to keep him from hurting other people," Bobby stammered.

Alex nodded. "Go on."

He finished by describing how he saw her at Joe's funeral. "I…I never meant to…to hide anything from you…I…I didn't want to remind you…"

It was a remarkably beautiful early summer day. It was warm, but a gentle, cool breeze kept the temperature comfortable. All of the varieties of people who made up New York City wandered about peacefully, and a person could believe that the city might actually work. And Bobby thought he could hear all of their thoughts.

Alex touched his arm. "You know, if more people knew about that medal and how you got it, things might be easier."

"I…I didn't deserve it…It…it had more to do with politics…"

Alex smiled. "Bobby…I'm sure you left out a lot of things…And even your version of the story tells me you deserved that medal." She took a deep breath. "I…I remember seeing you at the hospital…I remember how much it hurt when you weren't Joe…"

A dull throbbing behind his head joined the pain in Bobby's leg.

"And I think I remember seeing you in the church." She glanced at Bobby, who slunk on a corner of the bench. "How many doctors and nurses did you have to argue with to get out of the hospital?"

"Some…"

"Why did you come? You didn't know Joe or me…You were hurt…"

"He was a cop," Bobby said simply. "People told me he was a good cop and a good guy…And…And I couldn't understand…I thought I owed…" He rubbed the back of his neck. "He had this beautiful wife…and family…so much to live for…"

Alex, her eyes wide, stared at him. "You knew…You knew," she said slowly. "You knew I was pregnant?"

Bobby's hand flew up to cover his mouth. "Eames…I…I'm sorry…I…guessed…"

"How…how did you know? I…I'd just found out…the day Joe…I hadn't told anyone…"

Bobby held a fist to his mouth. "During the Mass…You kept putting your hands in front of you…Like you were trying to protect…And the way you looked at the coffin…Eames…Alex…It's this stupid head of mine…I can't shut it off…I'm sorry…I'm so sorry…"

Alex looked at him. Bobby was hunched over, trying to make himself as small as possible. One hand was a fist in front of his mouth; the other wrapped around the back of his neck. "I wish…I wish I could have taken his place…I wish…"

"Robert Goren!" Alex said sharply. "Don't you dare! Don't you dare think that!"

He looked up at her with his great, dark, sad eyes.

"I don't believe in that kind of a trade…You didn't live because Joe died…If you had died, Joe wouldn't have lived. I don't believe that."

Bobby felt a great weight leave his chest. "I…I don't believe that either…Not really…but…"

Alex moved carefully closer to him. "I…I'm sorry that Joe died…I loved him…Loved him very much…After…About a week after…I lost the baby…"

Bobby jerked as if he'd been stabbed. "Oh, Alex…"

She gently silenced him by pressing a finger to his lips. "I thought…I thought I might die from grief…There were times when I wanted to…But I didn't…"

"I…I'm glad you got through," Bobby said.

"I'm glad you didn't die that night," Alex said. "I'm sorry…I'll be sorry all my life…that Joe died that night. But I'm glad you didn't die."

"Thank you for saying that," Bobby said after several moments. "Thank you."

"We should get back," Alex said. "Ross will think we're going through another crisis."

"Didn't we just go through one?" Bobby asked.

"Maybe…but we got through," Alex said as she stood. "You ok?"

As he stood, Bobby realized the throbbing in his head had ended and his leg felt much better. "I'm fine…better than I've been in a long time…"

"Maybe for eight years?" Alex asked gently.

"Maybe…"

END


End file.
